Coping and Comfort
by rebecca-in-blue
Summary: "But it's the pack of Nutter Butters that finally undoes her." Tagged to Pyramid: Missing and extended scenes about how the team coped. One chapter per team member.
1. Orders

Disclaimer #1: I tried to even it out, but some characters got much longer chapters than others. I know it's not fair.  
>Disclaimer #2: Ugh, ugh, ugh! I don't know why, but I think this fic is one of the <em>worst<em> things I've ever written. I almost didn't publish it, but hey, maybe someone out there will like it.  
>Disclaimer #3: Oh yeah, and I don't own <em>NCIS<em>.  
>(For my own reference: 23rd fanfiction, 16th story for <em>NCIS<em>.)

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>  
><strong>Orders<strong>

_(Chapter Note: We'll jump right in with our Senior Field Agent! This chapter is written around that moment near the beginning where EJ is sitting in the bullpen wrapped in a blanket and Tony brings her a cup of tea.)_

He stays with Cade until the medics arrive, keeping pressure on his wounds and repeating the standard lines. "Stay with me, man, you're gonna make it." A few times, though, he glances over his shoulder at the direction Gibbs disappeared into - fighting the urge to run after his boss - and mutters impatiently, "Where the hell are those medics?"

Tony knows why Gibbs made him stay behind while he went after Cobb and EJ. It wasn't just because one of them needed to stay with Cade. It was more because Gibbs didn't want Tony there if he found EJ dead, her throat slit like all Cobb's other victims. What Tony _doesn't_ know was why he didn't even object, why he numbly agreed to sit here and play nurse to Cade while EJ was in danger.

If it had been _Ziva_ who was missing, he _never_ would have -

A bead of sweat trickles down the back of Tony's neck then. It itches like crazy, but he keeps his hands pressed on Cade and just flicks his head. It doesn't help. Tony grimaces and moves closer to Cade, whose limp body looks bigger than ever in the dim light. The hot air is thick with the smell of his blood and seems to sizzle. Guilt and anger are radiating off Tony's skin like heat, and the back of his neck itches even more.

The familiar ring of his cell phone almost startles him. Keeping one hand pressed on Cade's chest, Tony pulls it out of his pocket, and his stomach clenches as he looks at the caller ID. _It's Gibbs. Oh, God_ is all he has time to think before he flips it open.

"Yeah, boss."

Gibbs is tense and to-the-point, as always. He doesn't give Tony any time to ask questions. Cobb is still on the loose, but Gibbs found EJ. _Alive_. Shaken up but not seriously hurt. He's taking her back the Navy Yard now. Tony is to stay with Cade until the medics get there.

"On it, boss," Tony answers, even though he doesn't really hear anything Gibbs tells him except that EJ's alive. Safe. "Hey, Cade, EJ's alive, she's okay," he says after he hangs up. Cade is barely lucid now, but Tony keeps repeating the words - "EJ's alive, she's okay" - until he starts to wonder which one of them he's trying to reassure.

It seems to take a lifetime, but the medics finally arrive and load Cade into an ambulance. Tony stays just long enough to describe what he knows about Cade's injuries and how they happened. Then he heads full-speed back to the Navy Yard.

He's practically running when he steps off the elevator into the bullpen, and he's so busy scanning the room for EJ - _No_, he thinks, his stomach clenching again, when he looks at her desk and doesn't find her there - that he almost bumps into Ziva. She sees his eyes lingering over EJ's desk, and because she's his partner and knows him so well, he doesn't even have to ask.

"She is with Gibbs, Tony," Ziva tells him quietly, and the knots in his stomach untie themselves, "giving a report on what happened. She is fine."

Ziva puts her hand on his shoulder then, and Tony is so relieved that he almost smiles at her, at how in-sync they are, at how Ziva can tell he's worried and wants to comfort him like he comforted her after Mike died. But it feels strange too, to have Ziva touching him while he's so concerned about EJ, and Ziva must sense this because she reluctantly takes her hand away after a moment.

Tony's eyes flick from Ziva's face back to EJ's empty desk, guilt still nagging at him. He and Ziva are the the only two people in the bullpen at the moment, and before he knows it, he's thinking out loud, confiding in her.

"I shoulda gone after her," he says, his voice low. Ziva looks at him questioningly. He explains, "After we found out Cobb took her, Gibbs told me to stay with Cade. But I shoulda gone looking for her." He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels, fidgety and angry at himself.

Ziva makes a jerking movement with her arm, as though she had wanted to touch his shoulder again but thought better of it. "You were following orders, Tony," she tells him, looking at him closely.

Tony's eyes darken at that. He knows that Ziva is trying to make him feel better, but it doesn't work. _Following orders_. He remembers when, a year ago, Vance's orders to go to Mexico had kept him attending Ziva's citizenship ceremony. Yes, he's a good little agent, always following orders. But that doesn't mean he has to like them. Tony feels even angrier at himself. Out of nowhere, the back of his neck itches again, and he rubs it hard with one hand. Ziva doesn't move, but she tracks the movement with her eyes. She looks so concerned for him, as if she can tell...

He quickly lowers his hand.

"She's probably pretty shaken up," he says quietly, almost to himself. He hadn't gone looking for EJ, like he should, but now he feels a sudden urge to make up for it.

"I'll go make her some tea." He turns abruptly and heads for the employee lounge, but not before he notices the surprise on Ziva's face. He can feel her eyes on his back all the way out of the bullpen.

He's in the lounge, fixing a cup of microwaveable chamomile tea, before he understands why Ziva looked surprised. EJ doesn't drink tea. Tony thinks back to the nights EJ spent at his place. He's seen her drink coffee and soda, even chocolate milk once, but never tea. Ziva is the one who drinks tea.

It's enough to make him pause in confusion, leaning his hands on the counter, and wonder which woman he's really trying to comfort.

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><p>Up next, the world's happiest goth!<p> 


	2. Waiting

**Chapter 2  
><strong>**Waiting**

_(Chapter Note: I love Abby, but she's a challenging character for me to write, so this isn't my best chapter. I hope you Abby fans aren't too disappointed.)_

It takes three medics, all men, to move Simon from the ambulance stretcher to the hospital bed. Abby feels a little better when she sees that. Surely his body, so big and strong, will be able to survive this.

Doctors and more medics gather around his bed until he's hidden from Abby's sight behind the scrubs and white jackets. They wheel Simon into the ICU, the big double doors swinging shut behind him. Abby doesn't protest when a nurse tells her that she can't go with him, that there's a hospital rule about medical staff only in ICU. She just nods numbly and watches the doors swinging, as if caught in trance. It seems strange. People are in critical condition behind those doors; they should close with more finality. But instead they flap back and forth, uncertainly, like swinging saloon doors in one of Tony's cowboy movies.

The chairs in the waiting area outside ICU have hard, narrow armrests. Abby leans her head against one and tries to sleep, but she gives up almost immediately. It's too uncomfortable, and besides, how could she ever fall asleep with her stomach in knots over Simon?

But Abby is action. She's always in motion: working, running around her lab, examining evidence, dancing to her music, sipping CafPow, only pausing to hug one of her teammates. But now, she has nothing to do but sit and wait for news on Simon's condition. Now, her arms are empty, and Abby wishes that she had brought Burt, or that one of her team was here. Even Palmer would be better than no one.

She tries to distract herself by reading the magazines on the table, but when she sees the titles - _Home & Gardens, Parenting _- she tosses them back down with a sigh. Then, because she just _can't_ sit here and wait and do nothing, she pulls out her pigtails.

Before she can do them up again, one of the ICU doors opens slightly. A nurse comes out, jots something on the clipboard in her hand, and starts down the hall in a hurry. The front of her shirt is smeared with blood.

Abby stiffens in her chair at the sight of it. Yes, she handles blood-stained clothes and evidence on a regular basis, but when someone she cares about is hurt... Abby grips the armrests tightly, as her breathing grows short and shallow, like it does whenever she's really panicked.

She remembers all the agents - each of them just as tough as Simon - who _didn't _make it. That neat red gunshot wound, almost a perfect circle in the middle of Kate's forehead. Director Shepard's snappy blue dress shirt, soaked through with blood, in Abby's hands. Agent Lee, shot point-blank by Gibbs, bleeding out on the floor of a bus. Mike...

A ragged sob almost breaks out of her throat when she thinks of Mike, dying in Gibbs's arms, in the middle of a dark, rainy street. Abby leans forward, her elbows on her knees, and covers her face with her hands. She has to calm down before she falls apart completely.

But her breathing doesn't return to normal until she recalls the soft touch of Tim's jacket against her cheek, as she leaned her head on his shoulder outside the elevator. She sinks into the memory like a warm bath, blocking out the painful news of Mike's death that led up to it, and by the time she gets to the group hug - Tim and Tony and Ziva's steady arms around her - she's taking slow, deep breaths again.

Her body relaxes and leans back in the chair, but still, it's almost another five minutes before her hands are steady enough to put her hair back in pigtails.

After that, Abby almost starts watching the minutes tick by on the wall clock, but... no. Anyone who stares at the clock in a hospital waiting room is just asking to be depressed, and she's never been the moping, depressed type of goth. The TV on the wall is tuned to some late-night political talk-show - two heads debating over the best GOP presidential candidate for 2012. Abby mutes the sound and reads their lips. She has to focus hard and watch closely to read lips on TV, especially with two people talking.

_Well, I think we both have to agree that if Sarah Palin -_

"Miss Scuito?"

It's the nice male nurse, the one Abby spoke to when Simon first arrived at the hospital. He pronounces Abby's name right and tells her that Simon is being moved from ICU to a regular hospital room. "This time, you're allowed in," he says with a smile. Abby nods and thanks him and slowly stands up, surprised at how stiff and sore her legs are. How long has she been sitting in that chair?

Five minutes later, she sits down again, this time in a chair at Simon's bedside in his hospital room. It's scary to see him close up. His body seems small in the hospital bed, and there are bandages around his chest and his head, an IV drip in one arm and a wire to an EKG monitor in the other, a catheter tube running out beneath the blankets at the foot of the bed. He's so pale, and so still...

Abby has to look away.

She stares at the pale green wall and listens to Simon's breathing. Despite his condition, his breath is calm and even, reassuring her. Soon, she feels her own breath slowing to match it. Then her eyelids droop. She's tries to stay awake, for Simon, but this chair is so much more comfortable than the last one...

Later, Abby jolts awake suddenly, sitting straight up. The scene in the room is exactly the same - she sighs in relief when she sees Simon in the same position, still breathing evenly. Only the arms on the wall clock have moved. Abby stretches, then pulls her cell phone out of her skirt pocket. She hasn't checked it since...

_Since before I arrived at the hospital_.

She stops, just as she's about to open her phone. It might be a record for her. Her team is still at the Navy Yard, with Mike's body and Levin's body, and Cobb on the loose, and she hasn't even checked to see if one of them had texted her. She could be needed back at her lab, or there might be some new development with the case, and she never even checked her phone.

Is she really so worried over Simon that it pushed everything else out of her mind? She cares about him, but... is he really that important to her? She feels so confused - which only gets worse when she flips open her phone and sees a text message from Tim. A nagging voice in her head tells her that if _Tim_ was hurt, she never would've nodded numbly and not even tried to go into ICU with him.

_Hey Abby, I'm in your lab. Looked for you everywhere but couldn't find you. Where are you? Are you okay?_

She realizes, then, that she had run out of the Navy Yard after the ambulance in such a hurry that she forgot to tell anyone where she was going. Even Tim. Abby reads his message again. It was sent almost an hour ago. Has he been wondering where she is for that long?

She abruptly stands up and slips out of the room to text him back, but once in the hall, she bumps into that nice male nurse. He's come by to check on Simon's condition. "Oh, I almost forgot to ask you," he says to Abby, "but what's your relationship to him?"

Abby hears herself answer that she's his girlfriend, and for some reason, it feels so strange to say. Her hands slowly slips her cell phone back into her skirt pocket. For some reason, it feels too strange to send a text to Tim now. So she pulls some change out of her pocket instead and heads for the vending machines down the hall.

Her eyes move hungrily over the candies and granola bars, until she spots the two-pack of Nutter-Butters, and a lump rises in her throat. She remembers how she bought a box of them for Tim last year, as a joke when he started losing weight, and how Tim had laughed and bought her an extra-large cup of Caf-Pow the next day.

Then she feels tears on her cheeks, hot and itchy, and wipes them away with one hand. It doesn't make sense. After everything that's happened, she's undone by a pack of Nutter-Butters.

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><p>Stay tuned for everyone's favorite ninja!<p> 


	3. Frown

**Chapter 3  
>Frown<strong>

_(Chapter Note: This chapter is very slightly AU to the episode. We're veering a bit off-track here, readers. Hang on!)_

It's long, hot night. Ziva drifts off to sleep a few times, but mostly she just lays awake, shifting her body, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard-packed dirt floor of the barn. But sweat runs down her skin everywhere, soaking her clothes, while the dry straw brushes against her, and it's impossible to decide which one itches worse.

After a few hours, she manages to block out the noise of that ridiculous clapping monkey - her choices are either block it out or lose her sanity - but she can still hear the crickets chirping outside, and the wind rustling through the trees. Despite the circumstances, it almost sounds peaceful.

Ziva focuses on that and doesn't let her mind wander. She doesn't let the lingering smells of horses and manure remind her of summers at her uncle's horse ranch in Haifa. And she certainly doesn't let lying on the rough floor, bound and gagged, take her back to other, hotter nights she spent in the same position. She doesn't.

It isn't too difficult. The first thing she did, after she passed the psych evals and was allowed back on Gibbs's team, was to put up barriers around those three months. She pictured herself putting them away in a cabinet, locking it up, and walking away from it. Simple as that. It was a technique she'd learned in Mossad, and it had served her well over the years.

The barn grows lighter and hotter as the sun rises and climbs the sky. Thin strips of sunlight pour in through the cracks in the wall and slowly snake across the floor. Ziva watches them move. It's tedious, like watching the hour hand on a clock, but she doesn't have anything else to do, or any other way to guess the time of day. It must be almost noon when she hears distant, familiar voices, footsteps coming closer, and a moment later, someone smashing the barn door open

Ray reaches her first. He doesn't say her name as much as he _breathes_ it. "_Ziva_..." in one long, slow exhale, as if he were praying. But she knew it was him even before she heard his voice. He smells faintly of that cologne, the same kind she gave him on their ski trip last winter. Then Gibbs is there, pulling the duct tape off their mouth, helping her to her feet, and she has to grab onto his arm because she isn't nearly as steady on her legs as she'd like to be.

The straw rustles loudly as more pairs of feet move through it. Tony and McGee are right on Gibbs's heels. Ziva can't turn her head far enough to see them - her neck is too damn sore - but she knows they're there. She can sense the emotions coming from their direction. Relief that she's alive and worry over her are practically radiating off them. Her lips almost form a smile that they're so concerned, but Gibbs keeps prodding her neck and her shoulders, to make sure that no bones are broken or fractured, and it hurts so much that she can't help wincing.

Ziva tells them what she knows of Cobb's plan, trying to make them understand how important it is to get back to the Navy Yard. But Gibbs doesn't seem to care. There's no sense of relief radiating off their boss, just worry. He squeezes her shoulders and carefully turns her partly around so he can check out the wound on the back of her neck. Ziva can't see it, of course, but she can tell from Gibbs's expression that it must be bad.

It's when Gibbs turns her around that she catches sight of Ray again. He's moved away to scout out the barn, searching for more clues that Cobb might've left. Something about it seems... off. Wrong, somehow. But before Ziva can understand why, Tony steps closer to her and Gibbs and asks, "She okay, Boss?" Ziva feels slightly annoyed. She's already _told_ them - _several_ times - that she was fine, but of course they don't believe her.

And then she realizes what it is that's off. Ray moved away from her to survey the barn. Ziva quickly tells herself that she doesn't mind. Of course not. If anything, she's _grateful_ for it. It's bad enough to have Gibbs and the guys fussing over her, without Ray doing it too. But she still can't shake the feeling that it's a strange thing to do, after he seemed so concerned when he first got to her. Her team hasn't left her side yet, and she's willing to bet that Tony hasn't taken his eyes off her since he walked in.

Gibbs holds her face between his hands and fixes his steady blue eyes on her. And when Ziva meets his gaze, she understands. Her team never learned how to compartmentalize like she did. They don't know how to put up walls. They couldn't help seeing similarities. She was the one who'd been kidnapped, but she realized soon enough that Cobb wasn't going to seriously hurt her. Gibbs and the guys never had that luxury. And the air in the barn is suddenly heavier, almost as dry and hot as -

"You're going to see Ducky, Ziver," Gibbs tells her quietly, and Ziva just nods. She doesn't try to argue with him, just as he didn't try to make her go to a hospital. He knew that she would've fought him tooth and nail on that.

It isn't lost on her that Tony glares at Ray when he puts his hand on her back as they're walking back to the cars. Ziva sees his green eyes narrow spitefully, almost as if he's jealous, and then she has to look at the ground, because it feels too complicated, too confusing to try and figure out right now. She's suddenly so tired...

Ray turns to her and asks her something just then, but she can't make out the words. His voice seems to come from very far away, and her head _hurts_. She'd never admit it, but Gibbs was right to send her to Ducky.

"What?" she asks Ray.

"Your boss, I mean," Ray says. "Agent Gibbs. Why does he do that?"

But she's still only getting half the question. She feels irritated now and doesn't even know why. "Do what?"

"Call you Ziver. Surely he knows that's not how your name's pronounced."

_Of course he knows._ Her mouth opens, then closes. She frowns, first because it just sounds so strange to hear Ray say _Ziver_. No one but Gibbs has ever called her that. Then she frowns because she doesn't know how to answer his question. No one has ever asked about it before. Ziva tells him, "It is... his nickname for me," and Ray seems to accept that, even though it feels so insufficient to Ziva, like an oversimplifying of how much certain nicknames mean to their team. _Probie. Abs. Ziver._

The walk to the car feels very long, and when as they reach the car, even though her concussion, Ziva feels something click into place in her mind. It's as if a blindfold over her eyes has suddenly been removed, and now she sees what was right in front of her all along. Ray will never understand her as well as Tony and the rest of her team does. And perhaps, never care about her as much, either.

She frowns.

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><p>In our next episode, the autopsy gremlin!<p> 


	4. Drive

**Chapter 4  
>Drive<strong>

_(Chapter Note: This and Chapter 1 are my favorites! I'm so proud of them. This was also the first chapter I wrote.)_

He's used to seeing a dead body lying on the gurney, sometimes with Dr. Mallard talking to it, when he looks in the rearview mirror of the autopsy van. Now, no matter how constantly his eyes flick up to the mirror, it gives him a jolt every time he sees Cobb, with EJ in a choke hold, the barrel of his gun pressed hard against her temple. He said that he would kill her if Jimmy didn't follow his directions. So Jimmy does.

His hands are sweating into the steering wheel, and no matter how constantly he swallows, his mouth and throat feel as dry as paper.

_Come on, Jimmy, think_, he tells himself over and over. _What would Dr. Mallard do in this situation?_

He's known Dr. Mallard for years now, but he can count on one hand the number of times he's ever seen him panicked or at a loss. Maybe because he's served as a doctor in war zones, or maybe - more likely, Jimmy thinks - because it's just his nature to stay calm in emergencies, no matter how dire. _He _would almost certainly be cool as a cucumber under these circumstances, just as if Cobb had asked him to go for a nice leisurely drive in the country.

Jimmy glances in the rearview mirror again. Cobb and EJ are crouched awkwardly in the back of the van, where the guards couldn't see them when he drove the van out of the Navy Yard. He remembers, as if from another life, Breena's surprise the first time she saw the inside of their van, and how sparse and bare it is. Jimmy swallows hard, trying to force down the egg-sized lump that seems to be lodged in his throat, and takes a deep breath.

"Sorry it's so uncomfortable back there." He hears his own words clearly, as if someone else had said them. What is he doing? His voice sounds high-pitched and slightly hysterical. This would sound so much better in Dr. Mallard's warm accent.

For an insane second, he actually wonders - _maybe I should try talking in a Scottish accent?_ Hastily, he forces himself to go on. "We don't usually have living passengers, so..."

But Jimmy falters and falls silent at the incredulous look on EJ's face, which clearly says, _What the hell is the matter with you? Have you lost your mind?_ Then he glances at Cobb's face, but that's a mistake. There's a cold, deranged hatred in the man's eyes, and when Jimmy sees it, his heart skips a beat and he almost crashes the whole damn van.

Then again, given the circumstances, maybe crashing the van wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Before the thought can become too appealing, Jimmy's eyes quickly dart away from the rearview mirror. He stares at the street in front of him like his life depends on it - which it very well might. During Director Shepard's tenure, they'd all had to attend that ridiculous sexual harassment seminar, and around the same time, the non-agents had to attend a class on how to survive riots and hostage situations. _Stay calm. Comply with all demands. Never look at a terrorist directly._ God, what else had the instructor said? If only he could remember...

_Come on, Jimmy, think, _he tells himself again. _Remember. _Starting to feel panicked now, he swallows hard. That makes his throat ache where Cobb had wrapped his handcuffs around Jimmy's neck. That sends him into a coughing fit. He tries to stop it, but his throat is burning, and he coughs and coughs helplessly, leaning forward slightly as he drives and sending flecks of phlegm all over the steering wheel.

_Dr. Mallard will kill you for that,_ says a voice in his head. Then another voice adds darkly, _Hell, Dr. Mallard will be happy if you make it out of this alive._

Jimmy only manages to stop coughing when hears someone shifting around in the back of the van. He straightens up in his seat, and... oh, God. Cobb has moved closer, dragging EJ along with him. He still has her in a choke hold, his gun still pointed straight at her. His finger looks a little tighter on the trigger than it did before. Cobb is glaring at Jimmy suspiciously, his cold, dark eyes narrowed. No doubt he thought the coughing was a cover for something else.

"Sorry," Jimmy chokes out, and just saying the word brings tears to his eyes. His throat is so sore and dry now that he barely talk. But Cobb is still glaring at him, so he quickly repeats, "I - I'm sorry. I just - that was my fault."

Jimmy straightens up a little more and fastens his eyes on the street again. Traffic is light in the area of DC where Cobb told him to go, and there are only a few other cars on the road around their van. Jimmy feels his watery eyes practically bug out when he makes out the other drivers through their windshields. A man is talking on his cell phone in the next lane, and just behind him, a woman appears to be singing along with her radio. Is this just another normal drive for them? It doesn't seem possible that they can just be driving along like usual, while in the very next lane, he and EJ aren't sure if they'll make it out this van alive.

Jimmy wonders vaguely what song the woman in the next car is singing along to. The autopsy van has a radio in it, but he and Dr. Mallard haven't used it in years. They could never agree on what station to listen to.

Later, just before Cobb slips the black bag over his head, Jimmy's last conscious thought isn't of Breena or his parents. It's of how sorry he feels for Dr. Mallard. The poor old man has already had to autopsy Agent Todd and Director Shepard and... Michelle. It isn't fair that now he's going to have one more friend on his autopsy table.

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><p>In our next chapter, the Elf-Lord!<p> 


	5. Tie

**Chapter 5**  
><strong>Tie<strong>

The tie was a gift from his sister for his birthday a few years ago. It has a pattern of tiny brown and white marks diagonally crossing the black background. It's the sort of dark, somber tie that men wear to serious occasions. _Perfect tie for a funeral,_ Tim thought when Sarah first gave it to him. But it was a morbid thought, and of course he didn't say that to Sarah. He just smiled and hugged her and thanked her for the gift.

He had worn it a few times before he discovered first-hand that it really _is_ the perfect tie for a funeral. It was just last September - less than a year ago - when he last slipped it off the tie rack in his closet, knotted it neatly around his neck, and wore it to the funeral of Agent Stebbins, the agent who was killed while safe-guarding Gibbs and his father from Paloma Reynosa.

Their boss had worn a black band over his badge, and Tim knew that Stebbins's death was a heavy blow to him. But Gibbs didn't attend his funeral. He was driving his father back to Stillwater at the time. No one from their team attended, except Tim, who barely spoke a word and stood in the very back, behind the many family members, friends, and agents who had known Stebbins better. It almost made him wonder why he had bothered to come at all... but Tim knew, deep down, that attending the funeral was the very least that he could do for an agent who had died protecting his boss.

He had never mentioned to anyone else on his team that he had gone to the funeral, not even Abby. He was afraid that it might make them feel guilty for not attending, and Tim understood that as well as his team worked together, as much as they cared about each other, they each grieved in very different ways.

He owed it to Stebbins to at least attend his funeral, but he couldn't help feeling relieved when it was over. As soon as he was safely in his car, his fingers flew to his throat, fumbling clumsily at the knot of that tie until it hung loose around his neck. When he got home, he hung it from sight on the very back of his tie rack, as if it were somehow the tie's fault that Agent Stebbins had been killed.

Now, Tim digs through his closet until he finds it again, still hanging there on the back of the rack, almost looking guilty. It feels heavy when he picks it up and dusts off the mothballs - more like a noose than a tie.

Tim never would've believed, back in September, that in less than a year, he'd be putting this tie on again - this time to attend Mike Franks's funeral. God, Mike of all people. Of course the man had more than his share of close calls over the years, but after the way he survived having a finger cut off by a Mexican drug cartel as if it were no big deal, Tim had placed him on an almost Gibbs-level of invincibility.

He slowly ties the knot and tightens it in front of his bathroom mirror. He leans over the sink, his face almost close enough to the mirror to fog it with his breath, and watches carefully as his long, thin fingers slip the tie over and under and pull it fast. This is Mike's funeral, and he wants to have it knotted perfectly.

He's lost so much weight since Sarah gave him this tie. His fingers are the same length as they were then, of course, but they look longer now that's he's thinner. His neck does, too. Sometimes, when he looks in the mirror, he's still caught off-guard by how much _older_ it makes him look, as if his youth was lifted from him along with those extra pounds. Getting dressed to go to Mike's funeral, Tim feels as old as he ever has. Perhaps that's the real reason he's knotting the tie so slowly - a vain attempt to delay the inevitable.

He jerks slightly in surprise when his cell phone rings, then pulls it out of his jacket pocket and looks at the caller ID. It's Abby. Tim takes a deep breath, steadying himself - he wants so much to sound strong for her - and flips it open.

His gut clenches up almost immediately, because before he can even say hello, Abby is crying. She's crying so hard that she can barely talk, although Tim catches something about Nutter-Butters and, "I'm sorry I didn't call you when I was at the hospital. I wanted to, I just... I didn't..." and then another round of sobbing.

Tim doesn't waste a lot of time trying to calm her down. He just says, "Abby, listen to me. It's gonna be okay. I'm on my way over there right now, okay?"

Abby sniffles, "I'm getting ready for... for Mike's..."

He understands that she can't quite bring herself to say the word_ funeral_. "I know, Abby. I am, too. I'll pick you up, okay? We can go there together."

Abby sniffs again and says quietly, "Okay. Thanks, Tim." Her voice sounds as sad as Tim has ever heard it, but at least she isn't crying her eyes out anymore.

All of sixty seconds later, Tim's in his car, on the way to Abby's apartment. He still hates the thought of attending Mike's funeral - God, he can barely even bear to _think_ that Mike's actually dead - but facing the inevitable isn't quite so scary to him now. He and Abby still have each other. They both still have their team. He repeats his words to Abby over and over in his head. _It's gonna be okay._

* * *

><p>Some of you might be wondering which character the next chapter will focus on. Well, all I can say is that it's a surprise, and it's someone unexpected!<p> 


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Her mother helps her put on a fancy black dress and takes her to a rock garden. It's a strange, quiet place, where smooth square rocks are all growing in neat rows on the grass. Later on, Amira decides, she'll plant a pebble in the ground and water it and see if a rock like that grows up from it for her.

Her grandpa isn't there, in the rock garden, but Amira knows that this place has something to do with him. Her mother has told her gently that Grandpa is dead. He just went to sleep and never woke up. She nods, like she understands, but she doesn't really. She watches as some men carry a big wooden box and put it in a hole in the ground. She and her mother are standing at the end of a line of grown-ups that Amira doesn't recognize. They all look very serious and sad.

It's boring, and she lifts her eyes up to scan the sky. There's a large bird flying over the trees not far away, and Amira watches it, her mind wandering back to their beach, to the seagulls squawking and swooping above the waves. Her grandpa used to carry her on his shoulders so she could throw bits of bread to the gulls. For a moment, the smell of freshly-mown grass disappears, and Amira catches a whiff of her grandpa, of how he always smelt - shaving cream and beer. She can almost feel the scratch of his stubbly cheek against hers.

Another bunch of men fire their guns into the air without any warning, and Amira jumps, frightened, spins around and buries her face in her mother's skirt. Her mother puts a hand on her head, gently stroking her hair, and Amira feels safer, but she keeps her face hidden in her skirt until the guns are quiet again.

She's tired by the time it's finally all over, and her mother picks her up and carries her as they leave the rock garden. Amira lays her head on her chest and clings to her, wrapping her arms and legs tightly around her. Her grandpa has been gone for a long time now, and she's scared that her mother might leave her too. The silver-haired man walks out with them, and her mother stops walking to talk to him. Her heartbeat is steady and reassuring in Amira's ear, and their voices fade into a loud hum in the background. Amira's eyes start to droop shut.

She wants to go home. She still doesn't understand, exactly, where her grandpa has gone. Maybe when they go home, back to their beach, he'll be there waiting for them, and when he sees Amira, he'll hold out his arms and toss her up into the air to make her laugh...

Amira has to hold back a sleepy giggle when she remembers how her grandpa used to tickle her. Her body jerks a little, but her mother's strong arms hold her tight. Amira stirs a bit, opens her eyes, and lifts her head high enough to see over her mother's shoulder, back into the rock garden that they've just left. Birds are singing softly in that quiet, grassy place, and Amira doesn't understand how it can have anything to do with her grandpa. It's so different from their beach, with its wet sand, waves crashing on the shore, and the loud cries of the seagulls.

She presses her face into the curve of her mother's neck and decides that later, when they get back to the beach, she'll look for her grandpa. She'll surely find him there, far away from this strange rock garden and the smooth rows of stones that have made the grown-ups so sad.

**FIN**


End file.
